


Viewpoint

by 12gatsunohime (inkstainedwretch)



Series: What it Means to Be [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Grell is transgender, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and has had top and bottom surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/12gatsunohime
Summary: Post-What it Meanshoneymoon fic. Very explicit, absolutely no plot.
Relationships: William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Series: What it Means to Be [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958545
Kudos: 3





	Viewpoint

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal, [here](https://12gatsunohime.livejournal.com/128584.html).

Eight o'clock in the evening, on their second day in Germany, while the city lights of Munich fade into the stone arch outside of their hotel window, William slips his glasses back on after emerging from the shower. He checks the clock one more time and, satisfied he isn't running late, starts to dry his hair. 

"Will~"

The dreamy lilt comes from somewhere in the bedroom, too far to be from the doorway and too close to be from the bed itself. 

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

His thumb moves from the hairdryer's button, effectively turning it off (hotel appliances are irritating no matter which country you go to, it seems). 

"I believe that should be obvious, provided you haven't lost your ability to hear hairdryers." 

"Mmm~" 

Mischief is practically _dripping_ from that hum.

"Is there something else you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes." 

...

"What is it?"

"What are we going to do tonight?"

_Really_?

"We have been over this, Grell. We are going to a classical concert. It's Beethoven, one of the symphonies you actually enjoy." He made sure of it.

"I don't think so." 

He puts the hairdryer back on its clamp on the wall and opens the door to the bathroom. He can't see her, which means she's either in the armchair on the other side of the room (likely) or hiding in the closet (not impossible, but unlikely, given the clarity of her voice). 

Sure enough, he finds his bride draped sideways across the armchair, hair curled at the ends and flowing everywhere: over her shoulders, across her chest, even pooled on the floor behind her. The rest of her is clothed in red, from the silk rose in her hair to the ruffled blouse buttoned all the way up to the skirt that falls in a sweeping wave of crimson all the way down to her feet, covered in sheer red stockings. A pair of red high-heeled shoes has fallen to the floor, no doubt kicked off just a moment ago. 

Grell hasn't actually worn red since their arrival, choosing blacks and soft greys, instead. The absence of it for the last two days reminds William that the color looks really, _really_ good on her. It takes him a moment to remember what he's supposed to be talking about. 

"Do-" he clears his throat, "do you have something else in mind?"

"Yes, I do, William..." She nestles herself further into the chair for a moment and then stretches backwards, smoothing her hands down her sides with a sigh. "I have oh so many things in mind." She sweeps her eyes over him, and he realizes (which makes him aware that he's forgotten) that he hasn't yet had the opportunity to get dressed, and is still wrapped in a thin hotel towel. 

No. No, he's not going to let their plans get derailed (again). They scheduled this ahead of time, after all. 

"I'm afraid those things will have to wait," He adjusts his glasses out of sheer habit and looks away, ready to turn to where his clothes are hanging in the closet and start getting dressed. 

"Mmmmm, I'm afraid this just _can't_ wait," her hands come back up and start undoing the buttons of her blouse. "I need my William. I need him so very much." The ring on her finger gleams with every button that comes apart, catching his eye despite the fact that he put it there himself. 

And by god if that hadn't gotten his attention, the peek of lace that is starting to show more and more, in a pattern he's never seen before, certainly would have done the job. (Did she plan this?)

Well. Will can play this game just as well as she can. 

"I'm very sorry," he actually turns around this time, walking (somewhat more awkwardly than he'd like, he's hindered just a little bit) to the closet and taking a comb from his overnight bag. He begins brushing his hair to one side, watching his motions (and hers) in the mirror hanging from the closet door. "That's simply not an option at the moment." 

"Aaah, that's just too bad." He can see now that her shirt is completely undone, that her bra has a butterfly in the middle, and that she is pulling her skirt up with one hand. "But, I suppose I can take care of myself." 

The other hand is at her mouth, one finger and then two disappearing between her (unpainted, she _did_ plan this) lips. 

He nearly drops the comb. 

By the time she's gotten her skirt all the way up, folds bunched at her waist, he can see that she's wearing garters - but not panties. Her fingers leave her mouth with a wet popping noise and quickly disappear again, this time in a way that makes her head twist to one side with a quiet "Nnn~" 

This time he does drop the comb, standing transfixed at her reflection in the mirror. She's never done this in front of him before (not that he ever asked), but the sight of it is beautiful. The way her fingers move in and out of sight, the way her head presses into the side of the chair, unclipping the rose so it falls to the floor, the way her voice fades to a heady half-whisper of " _nnn, haah, oh yes_ ,".... 

She looks straight at him in the mirror, eyes full of need and knowing.

"Surely, we can go to the symphony some other night." 

Grell wins. She won a while ago, if he wants to be honest with himself. Without another word, he's across the room and kissing the smirk right off of her lips. His left hand curls around the back of her head. His right hand slides up her leg and scratches lightly at her hips. She pulls it up, lets him add his fingers to where hers are stroking, curling, and he's never going to think of holding hands the same way again. 

"William," she whispers, pulling herself away, "please." 

A tremendous amount of red fabric gets removed at that point, the blouse slipped off of her shoulders and the skirt pooled at her feet. She undoes the bra herself, throwing it to somewhere that isn't between his mouth and her breasts. He very much likes this development, taking the opportunity to lick and suck and bite just a little bit, to place hot, sticky kisses on the sides and middle and bottom, to take her nipple between his lips and listen to her gasp and moan. 

The stockings and garters stay on. 

Somehow, somewhere between her tugging his towel off and him biting the side of her neck, William manages to stumble backwards and land on the bed, thankfully not on the side where the covers are still strewn about from this morning. Grell pins his arms to the bed, kissing her way down from his neck to his chest, hips grinding and curling against him. 

He shifts a bit, puts his hands on her shoulders, whispers. 

"Sit up. Let me watch you." 

She gives him a furious, burning kiss, like she wants to devour him completely, and then does so, reaching a hand down and slipping him into herself. 

"I had no idea," she lifts herself slowly, far too slowly, "my William was such a _deviant_." 

Not waiting for a reply, she comes back down, giving the smallest of twists with her hips as she does. It takes a lot for Will to keep his eyes open, wanting so badly to let go and start moving, to feel more of the slick, tight heat around him. 

Instead, he watches. He watches her hips, rising and falling and rising and falling and then staying down, moving against him, and then rising again. He watches her arms, shaking behind her, keeping her steady. He watches her breasts, the way they bounce and sway when she moves. Mostly, though, he watches her face, looking back at him with love and want and happiness. 

When she moves back up, leans forward and puts her hands on either side of his chest, starts moving faster, almost frantic, he finally gives in. With one hand on her hip and the other clasped with hers, he bends his knees up and just _moves_ , thrusting into her faster and faster until his head snaps to one side and his eyes clamp shut and he can't think or breathe or feel anything except flashing, fiery pleasure (and _love_ , so much love his heart might collapse beneath it). 

When he looks up, Grell is smiling at him in a hazy sort of way. He doesn't even need to ask.

"William!" She almost sounds surprised when Will flips her over. He kisses her slowly, slips his fingers inside of her again, lets white and clear mix together on his palm. The look she gives him when he lets go and moves down is filled with an adoring kind of wonderment, like she has an embarrassment of riches and still can't believe it's hers. 

He keeps his eyes on her face as he puts his tongue to work, just enough off-rhythm with his fingers for her to notice. He loves her face when he does this, tight and gasping with pleasure. He recalls one memorable night when she thrashed her head hard enough to the left to make her glasses fly off, hanging from her neck by their beaded chain. He wonders if he can make her do that again. 

He feels her fingers clamp onto his head when he sucks slightly, swirls his tongue a bit as he does. He takes that as a sign he should do it again. 

_Her hips buck off the bed (he holds her down with his other hand)._

And again.

_The hands in his hair tighten._

And again.

_"Aah! God yes, William, yes, please, yes--"_

And again.

"Aaaa _aaanh_ \------------" Grell's hands in his hair clench and unclench in the same rhythm that her muscles tighten around his fingers. He doesn't let go until she does, and the whole time his eyes are open, watching her face twist and spasm in ecstasy until she falls apart, slack and exhausted. 

He slides up beside her and waits for her to pull herself back to reality, content to watch her chest rise and fall, watch her eyes blink their way back into focus (her glasses are still on, but he has plenty of time to figure out how to change that). 

She nuzzles into his chest when she finally catches her breath. He wraps his arms around her and runs his fingers through her hair, wondering what sort of state his own is in at the moment. 

"You know," she murmurs dreamily, "I think they're playing Mozart at tomorrow night's concert."

He resists the urge to laugh (she thought of _everything_ ), and leans back to kiss her, instead. 

_I love you, Grell._


End file.
